


blank canvas

by icantremember



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Art, Artists, Fluff, M/M, More Fluff, They meet in a library, art enthusiast wonwoo, artist jun, chan makes a brief appearance, spectacle wonwoo is great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 03:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13138272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantremember/pseuds/icantremember
Summary: Since when did Wonwoo transform into the very art that Jun came here to admire?––(in which Jun loses his inspiration and Wonwoo helps him find it.)





	blank canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [besitos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besitos/gifts).



> HAPPY CHRISTMAS ISA !! I hope you enjoy this fic <3
> 
> thank you for being so lovely and so talented and one of the brightest lights in my life !! you deserve the entire universe and i tried my very best to give you this little slice of wonhui T__T  
> I hope your christmas is filled with love, joy, and lots of amazing food xx
> 
>    
> [additionally, here's a link to a bunch of phone backgrounds for you hehe](https://goo.gl/6j2pM7)
> 
>    
> also, huuuuge shoutout to rhhB !! thank you for being my pillars of inspiration, I hope we can continue our shenanigans together for decades to comee

Jun picks up his paintbrush, a sturdy yet light filbert brush that he uses more often than he should, and clutches it in his hand. It feels more like an extension of his own arm rather than a separate entity as it fits perfectly into the dips of his fingers, balancing on its own. His palette sits on the stool beside him, housing a range of colors from the deepest violet to the sunniest yellow. Jun lightly dips the tip of his brush into a peaceful cerulean blue and hovers his brush over the canvas.  
  
Moments pass and Jun's brush still hovers, the canvas still blank, the clock still ticking. He places his brush down with a small huff, a bit frustrated at his lack of inspiration. He’s never had difficulty throwing ideas to the page before, so why is it happening now?  
  
He decides to give up for the day and reluctantly tidies up his studio— Jun's definition of "tidying up" being him shoving his stool to the back wall, hastily throwing his paint in an airtight container, and getting the hell out of there— before heading home to his shared apartment. Jun's roommate, Minghao, is greeted with a loud BANG as Jun's heavy combat boot makes contact with their front door, which swings open violently.

"Rough day?" He hears a soft voice coming from the kitchen. Jun whines as he drops his bag on the floor and throws his body on the couch in defeat. His world feels drained. His mind feels empty. His wallet feels light with his lack of income. It's been a rough couple of weeks.  
  
"I don't understand what's happening!" Jun's voice is muffled by the pillow his face is buried in, his energy too depleted to allow his body to make any sort of movement. He feels light taps on the back of his head and doesn't know what to make of this sincere, yet annoying gesture. "Is this supposed to be comforting me? Because you're only giving me a headache, Hao."  
  
"Look...everyone hits a rough patch sometimes. You just have to find your way through it." The tapping stops and is soon replaced with a loud crunching sound, Jun surprised at how quickly Hao returns to the kitchen. He turns his head and sees Minghao at the kitchen counter, snacking on leftover fried chicken from the night before.  
  
"Hao...I'm lying here in a cloud void of inspiration and you're...eating...chicken?"  
  
"Dude, I'm hungry," Hao retorts between chews. "Why don't you try going back to the moment you decided you want to be an artist? Remind yourself of the good old times before you became all work and no play." Hot sauce is dripping down the side of Minghao’s hand, and Jun watches intently as it plops onto the counter underneath.   
  
"I am all play! I paint for a living!"  
  
"Boy...look at yourself. Your eyebags are borderline Balenciaga and you're lying on the couch with your shoes still on." Minghao waves a bare chicken bone in the air, pointing at Jun and proving his point.  
  
"I wish my mind could be as rich as my eyebags right now."  
  
"Same, except my wallet instead of my mind. Someone's gotta pay the rent around here."  
  
"...I FUCKING GOT IT!" Jun suddenly yells. He quickly sits up, ignoring the vertigo caused by his sudden movement, and looks at Minghao with wide eyes.  
  
"Jun! Language! They'll hear you!" Minghao points to the two goldfish neatly displayed in a round glass bowl on the end of the counter. His adoptive children, the apples of his eye. Essentially the fish in his bowl. "I'm trying to raise them to be well mannered and your dirty mouth is not helping."  
  
"Hao shut the fuck up I know what to do to get my inspiration back." He ignores Minghao's glares as he stands up and starts pacing around the room, his heavy boots digging deep grooves in the plush rug underneath. "There was a book that my art history professor assigned us to buy when I was a little nugget in art school. It practically jump-started my deep desires to be what I am today and I swear it can do the same thing now. This is it. This is my calling. It’s the book."  
  
Jun runs to his computer, ignoring Minghao muttering _a little nugget? what the fuck? oh shit, my bad, goldfishies_ under his breath, and searches up where to find his self titled "inspiration book." Luckily, his local library seemed to have a copy available, and Jun throws his fists in the air in victory.  _Score._  
  
He really misses the feeling of his brush on canvas, and misses not being held back by self doubt and lack of inspiration even more. Jun finally takes his shoes off and lies in bed, a little more hope filling his heart.

 

—x—

 

Slightly out of breath from his brisk walk to the library, Jun pushes the heavy doors open and is greeted by shelves upon shelves of books. The librarian sitting at the desk near the entrance gives him a slight nod as he makes his way towards the section of the library that houses all the art and media.  
  
Jun whispers the book title to himself as he drags his finger gently over the canvas spines, hoping to find the particular title, but after five minutes and three complete run throughs of the art history book shelves, his desired book was nowhere to be found. With a heavy heart and an even heavier sigh, Jun grabs a few art history titles that look interesting and hauls the pile of books to a nearby table. He feels a bit eager and excited to delve into these books. At this point, any sliver of possibility that he could find inspiration gives him hope. Something is better than nothing.  
  
Jun settles into the library seat and flips through one of the books, classic art nouveau pieces filling the pages. He always admired Mucha's work and thought about his success in combining both the aesthetic of fine art and the functionality of design in his works. His old friend from university is a graphic designer now, maybe it could be worth it to see if an old dog like Jun could learn a few new tricks? Mingyu always seemed like a pretty dependable guy.  
  
But Jun was, is and probably always will be a realism painter, drawing inspiration from classic renaissance paintings of the past and fueled by the photorealistic paintings of today. He's tried to explore the world of abstract painting and minimalistic art but something about it doesn't sit right with him, always feeling like something is missing. Jun sifts through pages of Mondrian and Pollock, seeing flat planes of shapes and random, yet calculated, splatters, and wonders of he can somehow find inspiration through a new style of art.  
  
Just when he starts to believe he's making progress, Jun's mind starts to wander. Right on cue, his short attention span presents itself as per usual. His eyes stare at the page while his ears absorb the conversations around him, picking up bits and pieces of "how was your day?" and "parametric functions are too confusing! I wish I took statistics instead." He switches through conversations like a radio skipping through stations and finally stops when he hears a pair discussing art history. How fitting.  
  
"So you can see that the process of actually creating the piece is just as much art as the final piece itself, right?"  
  
"Yeah but like...he literally just threw paint on a canvas and called it a day? It looks cool and all but my two-year-old niece did the same with her applesauce the other night and she's not racking in the dough for it."  
  
Jun chuckles at the exchange, remembering the similar thoughts he had when he studied art history in the past. Relatable. His head turns slightly, hoping to match voices to faces, but instead spots the book he was looking for earlier resting on the table right between the pair. Tunnel vision ensues as the only thoughts that flood Jun's head are those of possessiveness over this book. He _really_ needed it.  
  
They wouldn't mind if he just asked to take the book right? They aren't even using it. Jun stands and slowly makes his way to their table, shrugging aside all instances of nervousness in the hopes that he can get his hands on this book. It's important to him. Really important.  
  
"Uhh...Hi there," Jun casually waves at the two gentlemen sitting at the library table, his eyes darting towards his book before making eye contact with the spectacle-adorned man on the left. "I've been looking for this particular book for a while and was wondering if I could take it....that is...if you're finished with it and all."  
  
A moment passes while the three look at each other, Jun wearing a face full of hope while the other two wear mixtures of confusion and interest. Spectacle man takes the book in his hands, casually flipping through the pages.  
  
"I was planning on using this to draft up some lesson plans. It should take me a few days but I can hand the book to you when I'm done?" He blinks fondly behind the frames of his glasses as he looks at Jun, waiting for a reply.  
  
Jun looks at the man for a moment. His eyes trace through the fluffy, yet composed mop of brown hair adorning the stranger's head to the unfamiliar yet comfortable smile on the strangers face, his bottom lip slightly fuller than the top. He could see the reflection of the library ceiling lights in the man’s eyes, how the yellow contrasted brightly against the deep rich brown of his pupils. "Sure! Yeah...that works. Thanks." Jun turns around and heads back towards his table, feeling defeated that he couldn't have the book now but satisfied that he will get it later. It didn't hurt that the stranger was pretty cute.  
  
"I'll meet you here in three days? Same time?" The same voice that previously caught Jun's attention calls from behind him. Jun turns his head and nods a bit too eagerly at the stranger before he grabs his pile of books and heads to the checkout counter. Three days. He could wait three days.

 

—x—

  
  
Three days pass and Jun is packing up the pile of books that failed to give him any sort of inspiration. Constant failure really does take a toll. He's getting tired of setting up his paint and canvas only to clean it up at the end of the day, bare and untouched. He rubs his hands together in silent prayer, mentally sending his pleads to the heavens. His luck needs to change.  
  
Jun arrives at the library, dropping his books in the unattended ‘Return Pile’ at the front of the space, whispering a much needed farewell. He takes a deep breath, the scent of printed pages and a hint of coffee filling his lungs, and heads to the same table he sat at just days ago. At the table, already sitting and waiting, is the stranger. Donning a grey sweater a size too large and the same silver specs resting on the sharp bridge of his nose, he sits patiently, hands folded over the book that Jun has waited three days to claim as his own.  
  
“Well, hey.” Jun slides into the opposite chair and holds his hand out in front of him. "I'm Jun by the way." He watches as a small smile perks up on the strangers face, his hand slowly being filled by the company of the other.  
  
"Wonwoo. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He nods his head slightly, releasing his grip from Jun's hand and placing it on the book instead, pushing it towards its rightful owner. "I believe this now belongs to you."  
  
Jun grasps the book in his hands, feeling the familiar weight rest in his grip. He slides his palm over the cover, plain in design but rich in context, a wave of nostalgia drowning him in comfort and longing.  
  
"You look really content holding that book in your hands." Wonwoo says gently, tracing lines with his finger in conjunction with the grooves on the wooden table, his eyes following suit. "Is it important to you?"  
  
"This book got me through college. It's almost like my foundation when it comes to art." Jun nods.  
  
"It's a great gateway to understanding the fundamentals of the history. Helps even the most troublesome kids...for example, my student the other day." Wonwoo chuckles to himself, and Jun can't help but mirror his smile. Cute.  
  
"Does he finally appreciate Pollock? He's personally not my favorite, but I respect the hustle."  
  
"Chan?" He laughs again. "No, he still can't seem to grasp Pollock's intentions, but that's the great thing about art. Everyone has their own perspective and opinion. Nobody is right and nobody is wrong." Jun nods in agreement, appreciating the look of pure interest that floods Wonwoo's eyes.  
  
They sit in silence for a few moments, both seemingly unsure whether to continue the conversation or bid their farewells. The air is thick with uncertainty, an awkwardness pushing them apart but a longing and curiosity drawing them together. They lock eyes and immediately turn their attention to something other than each other. Definitely awkward.  
  
"So..." Jun pierces the silence, "Are you an artist too?"  
  
"Art historian is the more accurate term. I unfortunately wasn't blessed with the hands of an artist, but my brain tends to make up for it." Jun promptly glances down at Wonwoo's hands, which are almost completely buried in the sleeves of his grey sweater. What he sees, however, are slender fingers that taper into even slender fingertips, resting gently on the tabletop opposite of him. They look almost too delicate to touch, yet they invite you to do so, and Jun buries the desire to reach out to them with his own hands.  
  
"Your hands look fine to me." Jun spits out the words before he can stop himself, and immediately regrets all of his life choices. He can feel his face bloom a vibrant red as quickly as Wonwoo's laughter reaches his ears. "Did I say that out loud?" Jun mentally pats himself on the back. Good recovery.  
  
"Thanks, I suppose." Wonwoo looks down at his own hands and buries them even deeper into the sleeves of his sweater, sending a shy smile in Jun's direction. "I'm going to assume you're an artist, then?" He gestures towards Jun's hands, rough and angular, stained with the faintest hues of purple and blue. Jun mentally cringes, uncertain of whether his face reflects his inner feelings. He should have tried harder to make himself more presentable and less of the messy-artist trope.  
  
"I'm an artist by profession, yes," Jun answers reluctantly, "but I've been going through a rough spot lately and haven't been able to create anything. I can't even bring myself to make one stroke on a canvas." He feels the frustration build up and balls his hands into fists to try and calm himself down.  
  
"And that's why you were on the lookout for this book." Wonwoo observes. Jun nods gently in reply, a wave of calmness releasing the tension in his fists as a result of Wonwoo's understanding tone. "You did mention it was your foundation earlier. I hope it can spark some sort of inspiration for you." He pushes his glasses up with his knuckle, his hands still fully buried in his sleeves, and follows with a little fist pump in the air for support.  
  
Jun smiles in reply. The conversation seemed to have mellowed down to a comfortable silence. Jun knows this is the best time to say goodbye, to head back to his studio with his book in hand, to finally delve deep into his foundation, but something keeps holding him back.  
  
"I should probably get going." Jun swallows down whatever that something was and stands up, grabbing the book and hugging it against his chest almost overprotectively. "Thank you again for passing this book along to me, Wonwoo."  
  
"Of course," Wonwoo replies as he rises from his seat and neatly pushes the wooden chair back into its original position. "You know...whenever I feel unmotivated I like to go see my favorite painting. I guess it's kind of like that book of yours? It helps me remember why I love art as much as I do. It might be worth trying if you still need a little boost of inspiration."  
  
Jun watches as Wonwoo smoothes out the wrinkles in his sweater, and holds back a smile as gravity pulls his sweater sleeves even further over his hands. Really cute.  
  
"What's your favorite painting?" Jun's curiosity bests him, prompting him to continue the conversation that he tried so willingly to stop.  
  
"I could describe it to you," Wonwoo turns to Jun, "but it would be easier if I showed you instead." He's wearing a smirk on his face that radiates confidence, but the look in his eyes hints at a nervousness that Jun almost doesn't notice from behind Wonwoo's silver frames.  
  
"I... wouldn't mind that at all."  
  
"Do you have time now? It's housed in a little gallery downtown if you want to take a walk with me." Jun knows he should be taken aback by how forward Wonwoo is being, but finds himself appreciating Wonwoo's company instead. He steps to the side and gestures to the doors of the library, his waist at a partial bow.  
  
"Lead the way."

 

—x—

  
  
The walk to the gallery is quiet, the rustle of tree branches in the wind and the occasional car honk in the distance accompanying the atmosphere. They steal glances at each other, conveniently timed so that they never actually make eye contact, to their luck. Jun notices how Wonwoo turns his eyes up towards the sky rather than straight ahead of him, and finds it very comforting to see someone enjoy something so simple as a walk outside. Wonwoo turns to Jun, who quickly yet awkwardly turns away, immediately finding interest in a twig laying on the ground.  
  
"We're almost there." He chuckles as he purposely steps on the auburn leaves that litter the sidewalk, a loud crunch ensuing as a result. They start their own personal game of crushing as many leaves as they can, and their lack of conversation is soon filled with simultaneous crunches and laughter.  
  
Eventually Wonwoo's pace slows as the pair close in on their destination, where a quaint storefront bathed in clean white paint greets them. Jun peeks curiously into the window, eyes darting across the various pieces fixed on the white walls of the interior. He feels like a little boy about to enter a candy shop, eager to run wild in a space filled with his favorite things in the word, his sweet tooth aching. His hypothetical dentist is about to despise him.  
  
The gallery smells familiar to Jun's studio, and already he feels an itchiness in his palm, longing for the weight of a brush in his hand. Wonwoo wanders around the first room, giving Jun some space to explore the area at his own leisure. He takes a moment to absorb the room as a whole, admiring the curated mixture of abstract and classic figurative paintings sitting side by side, a perfectly balanced juxtaposition of styles. A few sculptures rest in the center of the space, providing a three-dimensional relief in a room of flat walls.  
  
Jun feels comforted by the gallery space. It's a different atmosphere to the large museums he tends to frequent, which are usually saturated with the exclamations of tourists and the stuffiness of students on school trips. He can actually hear his mind think, the echoes that his boots make when he takes steps around the room, the fond hum of his company.  
  
"The painting is in the next room," Wonwoo mentions quietly, shifting his weight from side to side in anticipation and excitement. "I haven't seen it in a while, and to be honest I've never actually brought anyone here with me before."  
  
Jun heads to Wonwoo from across the room, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise at the fact. "I'm honored to be here, and I'm sure it won't disappoint."  
  
"Well, that's up to you to decide, isn't it?"  
  
They walk alongside each other as Wonwoo leads them to a painting sitting in the far corner of the gallery. Jun's eyes widen in awe as they approach the painting, not evan able to fully absorb its impact as they stand in front of the frame.  
  
The painting stands taller than it is wider and towers over the pair, leaning against the wall instead of being hung, the frame of the painting stretching from the floor to barely touching the ceiling. Jun takes a step closer to the piece and admires the layers of paint intricately laid out, presenting a unique dimensional texture on the canvas. His eyes dart from color to color, blues blending with royal violets, yellows contrasting with dark brown shadows, hints of reds and pinks highlighted by stark whites. The streaks of paint stretch across the entire diameter of the painting, threatening to swallow Jun up if he ever thought to lay a hand on the canvas. It feels like a portal to an alternate dimension. Jun wants to jump right in.  
  
"Wow," Jun whispers under his breath. He turns around and faces Wonwoo, who seems lost in his own world. Standing a few feet behind Jun, his eyes are fixated on the painting, his hands pressed together in front of his chest. There's a small smile on his face and a peacefulness in his eyes that makes Jun suddenly feel enamoured. He stares directly into the lights of Wonwoo's eyes, where a reflection of colors makes its home, and for a moment Jun feels both absolutely lost and completely found in them. Since when did the spectator transform into the very art he came here to admire?  
  
Wonwoo comes to, like someone in a deep sleep being woken from the most pleasant dream, and turns to Jun with hopeful eyes.  
  
"So?" Wonwoo inches towards Jun in anticipation. "What do you think?"  
  
"It's nothing like I've ever seen before. I don't even know what to make of it, really." They're finally standing side by side, both pairs of eyes resting on the painting in front of them.  
  
"Every time I come to see this piece it feels like I'm seeing it for the first time." Jun can feel the fondness in Wonwoo's voice and can hear the smile on his face as he speaks. "My perspective of the piece changes based on my mood, or the weather, or what type of food I'm craving. One day it's a violent sea, and the next it's a mother embracing her child. It's always different, and that's what makes me keep coming back."  
  
Jun takes a closer look at the painting, focusing more on how it makes him feel rather than only what he sees. He cranes his neck as he focuses on the top of the painting, noting the feeling of unfamiliarity and inconvenience in his heart as his eyes search through the violent strokes of color. As his eyes make their way through the painting, Jun slowly starts to feel safer, as if his mind is headed towards a place of comfort. His heart begins to beat at a slower and steadier pace, his shoulders relaxing as the stiffness of his muscles lets him loose, his weight feeling less of gravity's effect. The sharp contrast of strokes start to blend together, and Jun feels waves of serenity washing away any type of frustration he had been holding moments ago.  
  
When he reaches the bottom of the painting, the colors blend into one. A pure, clear foundation. A fresh start. And it's exactly what Jun needs to see.  
  
"Do you see it?" Jun turns and looks at Wonwoo. He sees himself in the reflection of his eyes, the tan of his skin blending with the whites of the walls, bright colors of the paintings behind him swirling with the yellow tinted lights on the ceilings. He can see the entire universe in Wonwoo's eyes, and it's more than any art piece could ever give him.  
  
"Yeah," Jun exhales, any bout of tension and stress leaving his body with the force of his breath. Wonwoo's smile is soft and encouraging, a blanket of support that Jun never knew he needed. It's comfort, it's silence, it's noise, it's Wonwoo. "I see it."

 

—x—

 

Jun reaches his studio after a brief yet reluctant goodbye. Something is different about his space – the feeling of entrapment replaced by an overwhelming freedom, the smell of his paints inviting rather than repulsive. His fingertips drag gently over his bare canvas, feeling every rough patch and imperfection in the weave of the fabric. The paints lay on the palette beside him. He has every color in his possession spread out on the wooden surface, each catching light from the windows and the ceilings.  
  
He picks up the brush that failed to touch a canvas for the past couple weeks. It rests, as it always has done, delicately in his hand, the weight of the wooden base as familiar as the weight of oxygen in his lungs. The tip of the brush swirls in between a deep blue and a fragrant lavender, the two gels creating a galaxy living on delicate white bristles.  
  
Jun hovers the brush over his canvas, hesitant to make contact with the naked surface in front of him. His eyes close and he sees nothing. Nothing but the blacks of his eyes, his thoughts floating deep in an ocean below, every direction an infinite span of darkness. He wills his mind to think about the painting from the gallery. How it made him feel something that he hasn't felt in a while. How it brought him hope in a space filled with dread. How it made him open his eyes to see the very thing that was in front of him. How he saw Wonwoo.  
  
He feels his brush hit the canvas before his eyes fully open, the first stroke made before he can consiously realize. And from there, the strokes spill on the canvas as quickly as — as quickly as falling in love. What was a dark ocean is now illuminated by rose colored glasses, and all he could see is light.  
  
The book that Jun needed so desperately before lays in his bag, unopened.

 

—x—

 

It's been over two months since Wonwoo visited his favorite gallery downtown, and an email promoting a new mini exhibition prompts him to go back. He pulls the heavy doors open with the weight of his whole body, and walks inside to something neither his mind nor his mouth can explain.  
  
The entire gallery is covered in canvases of various sizes, arranged on the walls and ceilings in such a chaotic manner that, in its unity, became harmonization. Wonwoo stands at the entrance, taking in the room as a whole. The frames stand separately but come together as one, illuminating the entire space with a story from start to finish. He finds his feet carrying himself to each canvas as his eyes dart from painting to painting, absorbing the textures and strokes on the canvas that create a narrative as clear as words on a page.  
  
It's surreal for a visual to so clearly spell out a story in Wonwoo's mind. His years and years of classical training when it comes to the viewing and critiquing of art feels irrelevant as he lets his feelings take over completely. He feels miniscule in a room so small, the canvases creating a world so vast that it would take him days, even months just to discover every corner. Overwhelmed isn't enough to explain how he's feeling.  
  
The room is filled with _wows_ and _amazings_ , scattered gasps and whispers come together in synchronized harmony. Wonwoo breaks momentarily from his voyage through the paintings to observe the patrons donning the space. It's a pretty good turnout for an local exhibition opening, bringing through an audience composed of a range of ages. Elderly couples stroll through the room hand in hand, while toddlers excitedly jump from painting to painting, calling their parents over to share their favorite one.  
  
Wonwoo takes a moment to bask in the gallery atmosphere, the small murmurs of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses vibrating in his ears. He's about to grab a glass of his own when one suddenly appears in front of him, a slender hand holding out the glass.  
  
"Champagne?" A voice drowning deep in thick honey resonates behind the rim of the glass, and it takes Wonwoo a few seconds to register that the voice belongs to Jun. As if this day could get any more fulfilling.  
  
He grabs the glass from Jun's hand, failing to avoid the sheer second of physical contact as the glass is handed from one to the other. "Thanks." He suddenly feels too warm in the air-conditioned room.  
  
"So,” Jun gestures around the room, "What do you think?"  
  
"It's extraordinary." Wonwoo downs half his champagne glass in an attempt to counter the heat building on his skin. "The artist clearly has an eye for not only the canvas but the application into the space. A three dimensional work composed of flat surfaces, truly encompassing the viewer into their own little world. Extraordinary."  
  
Jun chuckles, looking down at his feet, unable to stay still. "I'm not going to lie, Wonwoo. I couldn't stop painting ever since you took me here. And look where it brought me."  
  
Wonwoo turns to look at the canvas next to him, a fond smile fading into wide eyes in disbelief as he whips his head back towards Jun. "You? This is your exhibition?"  
  
"Apparently someone doesn't know how to read the event invitiation." Jun laughs heartily, the whites of his teeth shining even brighter than the lamps dangling from the ceiling. "But I really have to thank _you_ for this."  
  
"Jun, I gave you a book."  
  
"No, you gave me your time. You gave me your company and your support. And tonight, I give you this in return." Jun's hand finds its way to Wonwoo's upper arm, resting there for a brief moment before pulling away and tucking itself into Jun's pant pocket. He looks away bashfully, almost embarrassed to even look at Wonwoo. Cute.  
  
"These are my feelings on canvas. Unadultured, unfiltered and absolutely pure. Please do with them what you wish. That's the artist's orders." There are stars in Jun's eyes, stars that pull Wonwoo's attention like gravity pulls mass to its center. They make eye contact and their galaxies collide. two worlds circulating one sun in perfect rotation, in perfect rhythm and harmony.  
  
It's a mutual understanding. Two very different individuals with very different perspectives, but the feelings are exactly the same.

Wonwoo stands in the middle of the room surrounded by pieces of art that call his attention, but the only thing his eyes are drawn to is standing right in front of him. A champagne glass in hand. A fondness in his smile. A new beginning in his eyes — like the first stroke of color on a waiting canvas.

**Author's Note:**

> omg writing wonhui was a tripppp i love them both so dearly and i feel like they vibe together on the same intellectual wavelength if that makes any sense at all...if you got to this point i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> find me on twitter [orangejuns](https://twitter.com/orangejuns) xx
> 
> thanks to [kait](https://twitter.com/96iine) for beta reading !!


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